Five tiny pieces  Random Song Meme
by IShouldBeOverThis
Summary: Taking the titles of random songs and writing fast pieces.  New set.  PG for safety.  Sherlock/John
1. February 1, 2011

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1. To play, you turn on whatever music player you use and put it on Shuffle.  
2. Start writing based on the TITLE of each song that plays.  
3. You start when the song starts and stop when it's over.  
_**No going back to change things (except typos and such, of course) or add new sentences on, once the song is done.  
4. Post the title of the song, the artist and the length of the song. **_

_**Do as many as you like but I chose to do five. **_

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Disclaimer: I did let myself skip songs that were in Japanese and I edit as I go, so changed a few words here and there before the song ended. I also quoted the lyrics of one song and when I looked up the lyrics of the last one, they were so appropriate that I've included a link to them.)

I will probably do more of these as I feel very warmed up now. Plus, we get to see what's in each other's music collection (all 60GB).

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I Don't Want to Be Your Shadow - Psychedelic Furs 3:39

He wasn't bitter. He needed it. He loved it. He even loved Sherlock. But there were times when John Watson had to remind himself that he was an ex-army doctor. That he had a life and career that was not dependent upon six feet of adventure. But every time his phone buzzed and the familiar initials appeared, he was off again, resolve forgotten in the heady rush of adrenalin and endorphins that saved him from redundancy. Could he still be alive if he weren't in Sherlock's shadow? But if he was in Sherlock's shadow could he still be John Watson?

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You Make Me Cry – Bill Nelson 2:30

Molly needed a new hobby because the ones she had just weren't cutting it. Sure Toby was a great listener, but there are limits to the companionship one can get from a cat. The blog; that had led to Jim and Jim had led to heartbreak and outright terror and ultimately humiliation. Why couldn't she get over a man who was cruel to her most of the time and dismissed her with a wave of his hand?  
Who do I dream about, only you.

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Lead a Normal Life – Peter Gabriel 4:02

One thing that Sherlock Holmes kept hidden deep within his imaginary heart, inside his thin chest under the clothes that he wore as armor, was the fact that yes, sometimes he had wanted a normal life. Sometimes he still did. When he was a child and the other children taunted him and the teachers were afraid of him. Even geniuses need friends. At Uni when he needed someone to tell him why he was there. In his 20s when a normal life would have stopped the pain that only coke was ever able to fill.

And now, now that he had John Watson, the terribly, wonderfully normal John Watson he wished for John's sake that he could be, for once normal. That he didn't run headlong into danger because it was all he knew how to do, and that he didn't keep putting John there for the same reason.

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Choke – The Cardigans 3:20

Do you know why Sherlock Holmes needs to wear a scarf ALL THE BLOODY TIME? Because people like to choke him (oh, not like that—get your mind out of the gutter). That long, slender stem is just too much to resist. The limbs are flailing: could kick you with those pointed toes on the end of long flexible legs, or poke you in the eye with a bony finger. But the throat—now that's just a soft, vulnerability waiting to be exploited. Of course, it doesn't occur to the great detective that if he didn't offer villains a garrote to use, THEY MIGHT NOT BE SO TEMPTED now would they?

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Lay All Your Love on Me – Information Society 3:23

I don't know how to tell you, John. I need you in a way that I have never needed anyone before and I doubt that I ever will again. I don't think that you love me in the same way. And it frustrates me that I don't know, because I am not used to not knowing what people are thinking at a moment's glance. But that is just one more reason that I need you. You make me aware of the world around me. You are my solar system and I don't want to delete you, ever. I have never been loved. Can you tell me what it's like?

Which I guess is ABBA, but I have the Information Society version.


	2. February 23, 2011

_**(I Love it When You) Call Me Names**__ – Joan Armatrading, 4:20_

"You could at least try"

"I am trying. Um…you love this, don't you, you whore."

"Really, John, if you can't do it with feeling, don't do it at all."

"Not at all then. I just feel stupid. You're not my whore. I can't think of you that way."

"Fine, we'll continue in silence."

They continued, not so much in silence but certainly not in words, dirty or otherwise.

It wasn't until two weeks later at a crime scene that inspiration struck. Suddenly John wanted to try it very much.

Watching Sherlock bent over the corpse, little magnifying glass in his hands, his white skin seeming illuminated from within, eyes feverish bright, mouth pursed in a pleasured smirk.

"You love this, don't you, you whore?"

_**Why Do I Keep Counting**__ – The Killers, 4:23_

Shan and her minions

The Golem

Moriarty

That unnamed American assassin they sent when Sherlock exposed their arms running

Boris, the really stereotypical Russian ex-con

Jasmine, the honey-trap (also kind of stereotypical if you thought about it—he wasn't James Bond, for heaven's sake)

Steve - really, just Steve

Some random guy who was just pissed that Sherlock was a smug bastard—that one hurt

Mycroft's minions (by accident)

Anderson

Really, was there any point in keeping track of the times someone had tried to kill him?

_**State Street Residential**__ – Death Cab for Cutie, 5:33_

Madness can be found behind the most ordinary of facades. The white faced row house in Mayfair that looked as if nothing more than a broken tea cup would ever ruffle its austere serenity. The crime scene made even Sherlock blanch, and John, who had seen bloody battlefields and bodies in tatters, had to take a deep breath before he went on.

Even Anderson was quietly respectful.

Because of the amount of blood. Because of the way the faces, what was left of them, looked as if they might have died of terror. Because three of the bodies had been children.

There were no taunts and banter; there was only the serious business of finding the answer.

Sherlock, for once deigning to wear the coveralls and booties, had to search each room before he found it. The diary that told of an unstable and possessive boyfriend. The signs of someone living in the attic for several days, watching and waiting. The variety of weapons used: some brought in for the purpose and some found to hand. The man was hiding in a tenement near Blackfriars. For once Sherlock wanted to be there at the arrest, to look into the face of madness.

_**The Still of the Night**__, Cole Porter as sung by Kevin Kline and Ashley Judd in De-Lovely, 2:24_

Even before they became lovers, Sherlock would watch John sleep. He would watch as John would twitch, head thrashing from side to side. It made him ache deep inside that there was nothing that he could do. His low opinion of psychology was only strengthened. But still, he wished that something could be done to help and he knew that cold reason—John was no longer in danger—

meant nothing in the face of the mind's ability to keep us imprisoned.

_**Why Do You Love Me?**__ – Garbage, 3:52_

I wouldn't love me. In fact, I pride myself on my unlovability. Yet, you look at me and say amazing, extraordinary and other ridiculous and extravagant adjectives. And somehow it thrills me almost as much as a good puzzle each time you say it. I have tried to examine it as I might any unknown quantity. To hypothesize:

My looks, perhaps, but you are not gay

My wit, caustic as it is, but that would make you a sadist or a masochist and I know you aren't that

My intelligence, well, obviously, but is that enough to keep you by my side?

_**Thank God I'm Pretty**__ – Emilie Autumn, 3:58_

Really, it had started with being pretty. Or that's what he told himself, when he was inclined to examine it, which was seldom. Being pretty at school meant that you got unwanted attention. Bullies (repressed homosexuals) wanted to beat the snot out of you. Carl Powers, for instance. Drowning is never pretty. Showed him.

Or you received attention from hangers-on, wanting to get vicarious pleasure from being around you as if it would rub off on their own pathetic lives. Throwing themselves at you. Which could be pleasant on occasion, but they were quickly used up. And after some time with him, they weren't pretty any more.

Was it any wonder that he needed an audience? Only to be expected when you're pretty.


End file.
